


Not the Right Color Blue

by orphan_account



Series: Scales, Tails, and Bioluminescence [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Body Horror, Digital Art, Fanart, Gen, Sketches, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt probably really dislikes that color blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Colors

**Author's Note:**

> Transformation for transformations sake. With some art.

Newt coughed, his throat constricting in on itself. He waved off people politely asking if he was all right. He was COUGHING after all, he wasn’t choking. He excused himself from the mess hall as he felt his throat get raw and painful. Being alone and not needing to make polite half coughs might be a help.

As he walked back to his private room, he did his best to cover his mouth as he passed by people. Again, he waved off the helpful bystander. He massaged his hand over his throat, trying to feel where the pain was coming from. His hand froze around his neck, not feeling his Adam’s apple but a large pillowy mass. Newt moved faster, gently prodding his neck, feeling it give underneath pressure, feeling the small bumps that became more pronounced as he explored. He could feel as something grew and weighed down the skin underneath his chin.

Entering his room, Newt began hacking and straining, feeling his throat constrict more and more. He ran to his bathroom and hung his head over the sink, willing himself to cough harder and clear his closing airways. Vomiting was a part of being ill he hated the most, but at the moment, he wanted to expel everything he could from his body.

He gave one giant heave that was accompanied by an inhuman sound that rumbled from his chest. Newt felt the pop. And the pressure release from his airways and throat. And then saw the blood.

No. Nonononono. That wasn’t blood. Blood wasn’t bright, glowing blue. He heaved again, this time bringing both his hands to his mouth in a vain attempt to halt the inherent wrongness. Wrong blue. BAD blue. That blue haunted his dreams and stared back at him when he lost focus. And there it was. In the mirror. Leaking through his hands, glowing from beneath the bulge in his neck. 

It should burn. Shouldn’t it? Eat away at his skin like acid? He gripped his mouth tighter as the heaving came unprovoked. The coughing continued, the popping from his throat kept following. Dripping between his fingers. And each time it felt better. Each time he felt and saw the bright blue come out his mouth and nose and over his hands and in to the sink. He could breathe again. His tongue felt wrong. His eyes looked… almost right? Newt couldn’t tell. The blue was distracting. Moving beneath his skin. On his hands.

IT WAS ON HIS HANDS.

Newt turned on the faucet and shoved his hands under the water. He saw the blue and could feel it trying to crawl and eat at his skin. And boil. And itch. OH GOD. Everywhere that the blue was ITCHED. It had to come off. Ithadtocomeoff. COME OFF.

He clawed at his hands ripping at the skin to get rid of the blue, to get rid of the boils and WRONG PARTS. The blue wasn’t his, it couldn’t have come from him, it was wrong. All wrong. Rub it off. Rip it off. Rip… skin. No no that wasn’t right. Nothing was right. The bright blue was gone, but so was the pink. Where his nails had scratched were giant gouges in the skin, not bleeding, but just dark blue.

Newt stopped. Looking at his hands, trembling, willing himself not to dig in more. There was no burning, but everywhere underneath his skin now screamed at him, wanting relief, wanting to NOT BE WHERE IT WAS.

And then his jaw cracked and the blinding pain overlapped everything else.


	2. Jaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loses the ability to speak first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this end in cute comforting fluff or something more horrible? I WISH I KNEW.
> 
> My thanks for the attention! I'm extremely flattered, as I really haven't written much of anything in the past few years. (I am also not great at knowing how to tag things. So please let me know if I really should tag with something.)

Newt felt his jaw crack down the middle. Pain shot straight in to his neck and in to his head. As an inhuman shriek rose from his throat he felt his jaw split apart, tearing the skin straight down the center and down almost to where his head met his throat, forced further as his mouth gaped open. In the mirror above the sink he saw the blood flow from the ripped skin as his jaw spread, almost relieved to see RED before the pain tore more guttural rasps and growls from him. He thought he had yelled for Hermann. He wasn’t sure.

BLUE. More blue. It had enveloped his throat now. An engorged vile thing that pulsed with both color and movement. Red overtaken with blue. He tried to will his jaw to close but if Newt could control the two sides of his face, he couldn’t concentrate hard enough to do so. All he succeeded in doing was pulling and stressing the muscles to damage the skin further.

Newt fell to the floor, wondering fleetingly how he’d even stayed standing in the first place, then relief at not being able to see the blue creep from his throat to his mouth and then in to the blood drip dripping from the torn skin. His tongue felt odd, like there was too much of it. He coughed, spitting on to his arm and some of the floor, seeing the saliva eat away at both like acid. The pain on his arm in that small area was nothing compared to his head.

Another scream. Nothing close to how a human would sound. His jaw was fractured and bleeding, not red not anymore, and his head felt like it was splitting open. His vision blurred and then showed double, triple, quadruple of the area of the room in front of him. Seeing more than he should brought a wave of nausea over him, and he sobbed, not wanting to see what he would bring up and not wanting to feel his skin rip apart again around his mouth.

Newt looked down on to his chest as he felt something hit it. As he titled downward, teeth began falling out, on to his chest and then on to the floor. A thin, muscular, blue form was writhing from his mouth. Tongue? His tongue? The pain and his almost complete loss of useful vision were overriding any coherent thought he could have had.

There was a FEELING of movement on his head. Newt raised a shaking hand to feel his forehead, just wanting to make it all STOP or know what was happening, or HERMANN. Where was Hermann. Hermann could help. Or chastise him for not knowing anything. Because then things would be back to normal. Not blue. Not blood. Just Newt doing something stupid and Hermann being there to lecture. That's all this was. That'sallthiswas.

Thinking of his associate, no nononono, not an associate, not after the Drift. His pain muddled mind, through feeling his broken, dangling jaw and sensitive forehead, knew better. His FRIEND. His friend grounded him. Newt’s vision coalesced together, his jaw, still blue, always forever blue, stopped stretching quite so bad. His breathing evened out as he moved his back against the wall. Where was he. Where was Hermann. Kaiju weren't singular. Maybe he wasn't either. That's why that's why that's. It. Newt was missing that part of himself. He wasn't whole. Even as parts of his body were lost and new parts appeared, he still wasn't whole.

A litany of HERMANN ran through his mind. Not really commands or complete thoughts, just an intense need to have Hermann there. But no one appeared and the panic over took him. Newt convulsed wildly, slamming himself in to the wall and the sink, feeling the pain but not feeling. He cracked his glasses, sending glass shards in to his head, his vision blurring more. He heard his arm break far more than he felt it. The impact of his back against the wall made him collapse face first on to the hard floor.

Newt lay, breathing in the scent of ammonia and sweat, his tongue hanging out from his malformed jaw, sending tastes and more smells in to his system. He let out a high pitched keen as parts of his back popped and stretched outward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should say, Newt's transformation is actually quite slow. I... gave up on trying to signify that. This is not quick for him. Though I probably need to speed up the writing if I have any hopes of actually finishing this.

**Author's Note:**

> As the transformation moves... shall we say, DOWNWARD, the rating will go up. Also will probably go Newmann relationship-y, or at least very very BFF-y.


End file.
